


Trust

by wings128



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Established Relationship, Foursome - F/F/F/M, M/M, Making Up, Manhandling, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luckily for John, Ronon doesn’t give up on what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "It's Not You It's Him" because John/Ronon will always be John/Ronon – except of course, when they’re Ronon/John.

McKay has solid capable hands. John knows this, more now than ever, since it’s all he can see of the physicist right now. The rest of him buried beneath and between soft tender female flesh. It wrenches like a blade twisted free from his gut, but he can’t move or look away, his own body weighted down by nothing so pleasant as a lover’s caress. 

They’re lit in shadow, the pristinely organised lab echoing their moans and cries back to where John leans against the open door for support. It may not be his particular brand of company, but he won’t deny how sexy, red-haired Katie looks riding McKay’s face. She’s suffocating him; creamy thighs spread wide on the steel countertop, pink tipped breasts pointing skyward as she arches back to kiss the tiny Portuguese chick riding McKay’s heaving abs . McKay’s in his death throes, but really it’s just him fucking up into… _Carter?!_

John’s commanding officer is all sassy blonde curls and heavy sway of centrefold tits, as she rides McKay like he’s the pony her daddy bought when she was six. One elegantly turned hand knotted in Esposito’s black tresses and Rafaela’s moaning like she’s being paid for it; thrusting back on Sam’s slick and ruthlessly fucking fingers. 

Yeah, McKay’d die happy. John’s sure of it.

He turned at last, the dread of realisation making every atom in him ache with loss. And _goddamn_ it hurt! John swallowed down the dry heave that threatened to take him to his knees right there in the deserted hallway, and staggered the fifty paces to the transporter. He slumped, sanctuary mere seconds away, and thunked his head against the sconce. John punched it in return; grazed knuckles righteous payment for his stupidity. 

The doors slid open, revealed a hallway identical to the one he’d just left, and John ducked right – prayed he’d make it. His doors were open, Atlantis offering silent refuge to her favourite son. A blessing on his status, but not his actions. 

John fell gratefully onto his bed, recently upgraded and now, as cold and desolate as Antarctica had been all those years ago; before… 

Before John’d thrown away everything he never knew he’d always wanted.

~♠~

Ronon snorted awake; his cheek smooshed into the damp cotton of his pillow, while the sharp reminder of John’s desertion continued to eat away at his gut. 

He might be down but he wasn’t out. Both John and McKay fought with words long before they ever brought forth more effective weapons, and if Ronon was going to win this fight, he’d have to adapt. So be it. Ronon didn’t care. He’d spent seven years adapting, this was just one more round. He only wanted – needed – one thing. John. And if getting him back meant fighting with words, then Ronon would use every single one he had. Plus a few he’d learnt from John himself.

Ronon dragged his ass out of bed. Shower first.

~♠~

Twelve minutes later Ronon was stalking through the City of the Ancients, headed for Sheppard’s office. John was always there first thing. Ronon only hoped that today, he’d be on his own.

‘Fate was a she-devil sent to flay him raw!’

“You’ll just have to talk t-”

McKay shut up the moment he realised Ronon was filling the door frame, expression formidable and deadly as any advancing Hive ship. With a nod he stood up from the visitor’s side of John’s desk, chair scraping tile like nails down a chalkboard.

“I see you’ve got things to attend to, Colonel.” Rodney said too quickly, gripped his half-empty coffee in one hand and squeezed Ronon’s bicep in reassurance with the other; before ducking out the tiny gap Ronon allowed him.

Ronon stepped over the threshold and felt the whisper of the door sliding shut behind him. John had stood up when McKay had, only now he was frozen in place; wary hazel-gold eyes watching Ronon the way prey watched death approach. It made Ronon’s stomach lurch to see it and everything he’d had on his tongue to say was lost. He stepped forward, watched helplessly as John maintained their separation, hands raised.

“John.” It felt so fucking good to say this man’s name, to feel it hot on his lips; to see Sheppard’s shoulders ease with the hearing of it.

They were close. Too close for Sheppard, but not close enough for Ronon. John’s back against the wall, cornered between the cabinet and Ronon. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, exactly where Ronon needed him to be.

John’s heart was hammering in his chest, beating off his ribs. How’d he been stupid enough to think this man wasn’t what he wanted? Ronon was there and, _oh god!_ , so fucking huge, and leaning…

“Tell me _no_ , and I walk away.”

Even as close as they were, with John’s everything so clear in every line of his body; Ronon was giving him an out. One the John of yesterday would’ve taken under pretence of protecting Ronon – of stopping things before John’s commitment issues could add to the suffering Ronon had already endured in his young life. But that was before he’d realised his sensors were totally out of whack. Before discovering Rodney had never thought of John that way – too busy lapping up all the free pussy Atlantis had to offer.

“He hold you like I do?” Ronon murmured rich and deep, curving a huge palm around the back of John’s neck; encouraging John to arch into its shape, allow himself to be held.

The silence stretched and folded in around them as John did just that, lifted his chin to meet Ronon’s gaze. His body pining as if their separation had been decades instead of mere hours.

“He understand you?” John shivered, couldn’t help it, not with the heat of Ronon’s free hand sliding down his flank; thumb stroking over John’s hip before it gripped and lifted him tight. John couldn’t help his moan of want as their cocks pressed, parted, and pressed again. “Know you like I do?”

Yeah, Ronon knew him alright. Probably better than John knew himself, right down to his dark chocolate centre. Somehow he’d let Ronon in and before John’d realised, he was in this too. Too deep to ever get out and it fuckin’ terrified him. So he’d lashed out. But it hadn’t worked. Ronon was here. Ronon was talking. Asking John questions that could only ever be answered with _Ronon._

“Is he there when your ghosts come in the night?” Ronon’s question stirred John’s memories of being held; nightmares soothed by the existence of Ronon. “Can he give you what you need?”

John wanted to confess, parted his lips to do just that; but Ronon was there, brushing their mouths so gently together. More promise than tease. 

“He let you breathe, John?” Ronon dropped his hand over John’s hip, kneeded his ass before sliding down the back of his thigh, encouraging John to lift up; leathered hip nudging close. “Take command?”

 _Fuck!_ John needed to say something, anything, but every time he tried the thought skidded away leaving nothing but heat, and want, and Ronon. 

“Would you risk _us_ for him?”

How could Ronon still want him? John was a bastard. When faced with a glimpse of Ronon’s ability to love him, he’d turned tail and run. Right back to the illusion of Earth-based safety. He wasn’t just a bastard. He was a coward. 

Ronon yanked John’s shirts aside, exposed a frantic pulse leaping under pale skin; felt it with his tongue, suckled; and John didn’t bother stifling the pleasure that burned in his blood as he tugged Ronon closer, fingers a white-knuckle grip in scratchy dreads.

“Can he satisfy your hunger?” He shuddered, whispered _no_ in the heated air between them, felt Ronon’s grin as perfect white teeth nipped the pointy tip of his ear. “Or sleep while you burn?”

 _“Jesus!Fuck!Ronon!”_ John wrapped his legs around Ronon’s gyrating hips when Ronon boosted him up, held him between the wall and a long muscular chest. Head spinning with all Ronon’s words, each lighting a spark in John’s mind, his heart, his cock. Ronon really _really_ needed to purr like that all the goddamn time! 

“I hunger for you John.” Ronon carried on speaking unable to stop now he’d started. But that was Ronon, all or nothing, no middle ground; and why hadn’t John realised it for the prize it was? “To share my bed, my life.”

It was too much, an onslaught of words, of feelings, everything John hadn’t known he needed to hear. He wanted to kiss Ronon, kiss him till they were both drunk with it, but Ronon would have to stop speaking and that wasn’t going to work for John. 

“I’m sorry, shit, Ronon,” John babbled, not even sure if Ronon had heard, let alone understood. John wasn’t even sure if _he_ did. Ronon was lifting John away, separating their hips with those huge hands, hands John wanted on his body for the rest of forever. But it was too late, his boots back on the ground, only Ronon’s hold on him keeping John from slumping boneless to the floor in defeat. “I’m so sorry!”

It was the hardest thing Ronon had ever had to do in his entire existence. He’d played his hand and now it was up to John. John had taken them here and only John could lead them out. 

Ronon had put his life in John’s hands the moment he’d agreed to come to Atlantis; had never doubted his decision, did not doubt it now. He trusted John. Always would. But it wasn’t Ronon’s faith that was being questioned. 

“Trust me.” Ronon whispered, pressed a kiss to John’s brow.

“Always.” John whispered just as softly and closed his eyes against the goodbye this whole thing felt like. Only to realise that Ronon really was going to walk out and leave him here. Alone.

"Damn it Ronon!” Ronon felt the panic in John’s grip around his forearm and allowed himself to be halted. Watched as John ran a shaking hand through his mess of spiky black hair. “Don’t you get it? It's _me_ I don't trust."

Ronon turned then, the weight in his chest melting away, leaving only light and hope in its wake. "C'mere."

John threw himself at Ronon, couldn’t help wriggling in the huge hands that grabbed his ass and boosted him up. “Manhandling, huh? A guy could get used to that.”

“John?” Ronon growled and nipped at John’s full lower lip just to hear his lover gasp. “You have _no_ idea, the things I’m going do to you.”


End file.
